


the wash of the rain

by parkjinyoungs



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, i love ot7 i promise lmao, is that giving too much away?? idk, post-disbandment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 11:19:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10592937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkjinyoungs/pseuds/parkjinyoungs
Summary: jinyoung still drowns in mark's absence even after six years since the disbandment





	

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a line from the song cool blue by the japanese house which i listened to over and over whilst writing this fic (if you'd like something to listen to whilst reading!)

It was still raining.

Jinyoung flicked over the page, gradually feeling the absorption of the book melt away as the downpour intruded his mind and broke down his focus, ‘til all he could do was stare out of the window listlessly, a finger preserving his place.

His phone jolted next to his thigh and, with a sigh, he smoothed his bookmark over the page and let the book fall to his side.

_Jackson GOT7._

He smudged his thumb over the ‘GOT7’, drawing an imaginary line through it.

_He’s coming back this Saturday. Just thought you should know, in case you didn’t._

The suitcase remained at the front door, just like it had done every day for the past six years.

And it still rained.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Naively, Jinyoung had thought that every day would’ve got easier after debut.

Sure, the days grew longer; the sun disappearing beneath the horizon and the moon hanging high as he poured over his sheets of lyrics or dripped sweat across the practice room floor as he repeated the same body wave for the 200th time. He had begun to sleep less and less; spending more time on ensuring he wasn’t the weakest link in the team, that he brought something more than he had to JJ Project.

And sure, instead of just sharing a life with Jaebum, he now had to accommodate five other young guys with varying habits, tastes and personalities. Jinyoung had always been sociable; he mixed well amongst the trainees, made friends easily and he was pleased with the boys selected for GOT7. Nothing had ever seemed too difficult as long as he heard Bambam and Yugyeom screaming as they tackled each other, Youngjae’s computer game noises blasting through the walls and Jackson and Jaebum arguing about something insignificant. Mark would always roll his eyes at him; the two sharing a knowing smile that, even though the noise and the mess and the chaos was almost unbearable, it was home.

But naivety had a sick way of making you think something would catch you before you fall.

 

And, unsurprisingly, Jinyoung didn’t even know he was falling.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

“I can’t believe it’s been five months already! You should come back with me to China sometime, take a little trip away. You stay all cooped up in your house, it’s not good for you! Let me know some dates you’re free and we can plan something...”

Jinyoung sipped at his red wine, letting Jackson wash over him like a stream of good meaning drizzle. There was never a time Jackson didn’t worry about Jinyoung; he meant well, just like a rainfall in the middle of a drought, but that didn’t mean you still didn’t get soaked.

Jackson clicked his fingers in front of Jinyoung’s face, silver rings twinkling under the subdued light of the restaurant.

“You’re away again, Jinyoung”

“Sorry,” He finally replied, twirling his wine glass around on the table, “you’re right, maybe a trip will do me good.”

“Of course it will!” Jackson exclaimed with confidence; confidence that had once driven Jaebum up the wall, much to the maknaes’ amusement. Jinyoung gripped the stem of his wine glass, his eyes fluttering closed.

“About my text…” Jackson began but couldn’t seem to find the words to continue. Even after six years, Jackson still didn’t know how to bring the topic up without setting Jinyoung off.  

“Mark isn’t staying long. Two weeks maybe. He’s living at Yugyeom’s whilst he’s here, yknow, the two of them stayed quite close after…”

Jinyoung downed the rest of his wine, the full-bodied spiciness making his throat ache. “After…”

Silence held the two of them in its grasp; despite sitting opposite each other, they might as well have been oceans apart. They usually were most of the time.

“You didn’t bring an umbrella with you! It’s practically torrential outside, how are you gonna get home?!” Jackson cried, arms gesticulating; he’d always been larger than life.

_“You’re larger than life, Jackson, larger than all of us combined! You can go on and find more jobs and leave the rest of us in the dust, it was bound to happen anyway”_

Jinyoung shrugged. He had forgotten a long time ago what the rain even felt like.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

A string of dramas, which saw Jinyoung slowly rise from younger version of character to side character to main, propelled Jinyoung’s name into the mainstream press. Industry reps were calling every day, according to his manager, and Jackson had somehow managed to find every article calling Jinyoung a ‘rising star’ and pasted them onto the dorm fridge.

A new opportunity had presented itself, a drama at primetime with all of the biggest names in the industry which was almost guaranteed to do well, despite GOT7’s sales doing unusually mediocre in their last comeback. He was grateful and had been studying his lines into the early hours of the morning; the lamp next to him burning hot as he poured over his scenes.

“Jinyoungie, it’s 3 in the morning, we have schedule in 2 hours, please go to sleep just for a little bit”

He looked up from the sheets of paper spread out before him at Mark standing in the doorway, leaning up against the wall, arms shoved in the pockets of his oversized hoodie. In the muted light of the room, Mark’s face was soft and earnest, and Jinyoung had never been able to say no.

“Only if you stay with me”

And Mark had never been good at saying no either.

The sun would begin to rise in a few hours and the day’s schedule was less intense than usual. Their comeback had slowly turned stagnant and jobs weren’t cropping up like they used to but, in each other’s arms, they could’ve weathered the worst of storms.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Another book, another day of rain.

Jinyoung had begun quite the collection since he’d come back home to Jinhae; paperbacks towering up the sides of his bedroom walls and covering his window sills. It was the only time of day he didn’t have to think about anything; the past, the mistakes he’d made, the uncertain future. Jinyoung didn’t exist when he read; he was Pip and Tintin and Horatius and Huckleberry Finn. He was an adventurer, a wanderer, a hero, a saviour. He was anything he wanted to be. Anything other than himself.

“Honey! I’ve got some of the kimchi you wanted! Let’s have lunch!”

He placed his book down, always saving his page with a bookmark, at the sound of his mother’s call. She had become a regular visitor to his little flat; he’d seen her more this week than he would have in three months when he was an idol in Seoul. Her relief to have him back in Jinhae was palpable every time he saw her; she smiled so much more and relished in cooking for him the three nights a week she would come over. Most of all, she never lingered on the past or brought up times Jinyoung wasn’t ready to address; she only looked forward, and he loved her for that.

Shuffling into the kitchen in his worn out grey slippers, Jinyoung dropped a kiss to his mother’s forehead. “Hi mom.”

Flicking the kettle on, he watched his mother contemplate a small piece of thin cardboard in her hand, her lip bitten uneasily between her teeth, and his stomach dropped.

“Just pass it to me, mom”

With reluctance and a remorseful smile, she handed him the glossy postcard, already beginning to shake in Jinyoung’s grasp. He glanced over the picture, a desert that looked like it belonged in those Wild West films Jaebum used to love watching, with the word ‘NEVADA’ printed along the front, before flicking over to the opposite side. The handwriting still made his throat clench.

_“Hey! Last stop on my road trip before I’m back home in L.A. Hope you’re well. Mark.”_

They were always short and detachedly friendly; like he was writing to a work colleague or distant relative, not someone he had known for nine years, someone he’d been in a group with for five years of those nine, someone he’d lived with, travelled with, someone he’d shared his deepest secrets with, someone who had known him better than he’d known himself.

“At least he writes, dear” His mother tried placatingly, “maybe you could write back?”

Jinyoung thought he smiled and, like always, the urge to rip the damn thing to pieces made his fingers twitch violently. He tried to read the single line again but he couldn’t really see through his tears and his mother had never understood that postcards are sent to someone you love but not enough to stay.

It still goes in the box.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Jinyoung bit at his nails in the silence of the dorm, eyes transfixed on the wall as his stomach rolled with waves of nausea.

The album had flopped.

The album had flopped and Jaebum had been called into a meeting at the company building and their manager wasn’t picking up their calls and everyone was too quiet and Jinyoung could barely breathe.

Bambam was shut in his bedroom after he had stormed away from an argument with Jackson, who was currently cleaning plates angrily in the kitchen. Youngjae’s clicking could be heard through the walls but so could his crying and Mark just… sat there. He sat there, opposite Jinyoung, watching him, it seemed, without even blinking. Jinyoung couldn’t risk making eye contact; he had to keep it together for whatever was coming when Jaebum got home, whether it be a simple shower or a full-blown typhoon.

After what was only an hour, but felt like a lifetime to Jinyoung, the front door clattered open and Jaebum’s form could be seen shucking his shoes into the pile and dropping his coat on a peg. The sink shut off abruptly, the clicking stopped and Jinyoung froze, eyes squeezed painfully shut. He could hear the other members slowly fill the living area and finally, Jaebum trudged into the room and flopped down onto the wooden floors, a deep, aching sigh escaping his chest.

“We’re done. They’re disbanding us.”

A flood rushed into Jinyoung’s ears, blocking out the rest of Jaebum’s words, something about one last fanmeeting and maybe a goodbye concert if they were lucky and the company could scrounge up the money.

_We’re done. They’re disbanding us._

“But… that’s it? We don’t get any say in this?” Jackson croaked out, his voice almost hoarse with grief.

Bambam scoffed harshly, folding his arms over his chest. “What do you have to worry about? You’re China’s sweetheart, you’re guaranteed a job after this.”

“Bambam, that’s not fair” Mark murmured with heat as Jackson stared aghast at Bambam’s jab.

“Well it’s true! They love him there, he can just leave now!”

“Yeah and you’re _Thailand’s_ sweetheart,” Yugyeom jabbed back in defence of Jackson, “so you have nothing to worry about either.”

“That’s enough,” Jaebum’s voice echoed through the dorm, “we need to be mature about this, we have enough time to make future plans.”

Jackson’s hands were shaking and Jinyoung didn’t have enough energy within him to get up and hug him.

“Didn’t you fight for us?”

Everyone turned in horror at Jackson’s question, who had sounded like a wounded animal. Jinyoung knew this was his moment to intervene, to deescalate the situation, but he had no fire in him, no passion… he had nothing.

Jaebum gaped at Jackson, his eyebrows frowned together and eyes glistening with pain. “How could you even ask me that?”  

“Because we’re in this situation!” Jackson burst out, voice high-strung and raw, “because we should have had a chance to prove to them that we can turn this around! We can’t just give up!”

“And what do you suggest we do, Jackson?” Jaebum bit back and Jinyoung could feel the flood tide rising, rising to drown them all.

“I… I don’t know!” Jackson shrieked, losing any sense of control he’d had over his built-up frustration, “I’m not the one who fixes things, I’m not the leader! You are!”

“I can’t fix this, Jackson! I can’t fix dwindling music video numbers, I can’t fix low charting songs, I can’t fix poor concert ticket sales, I can’t fix this! And it isn’t just my mess to fix! Do you really think you contributed everything you could these past few months?”

Jaebum’s low blow resonated throughout the whole group and a few of the boys groaned. They all knew that Jackson was the hardest working of the group; the first up in the morning and the last to bed at night, the one who travelled back and forth from Korea to China regularly to keep promoting their name, the one who sacrificed his family and his health for GOT7. But Jaebum knew how to hit where it hurt.

“Guys, please…” Jinyoung finally tried but it was too little too late; the floodgates had burst.

Jackson scoffed bitterly. “You’re one to fucking talk! You’ve cared more about the solo stuff you’ve been writing than anything we’ve been doing as a group! And you!” Jackson turned, pointing at Bambam, “you’ve been in Thailand more than you’ve been here this year! We’ve been GOT6 for practically six months!”

“Yeah well we’re GOT nothing now so what does it fucking matter?” Bambam snapped back and Jinyoung could feel the water rushing in, filling his lungs, filling his nose, his ears, filling him up until there was nothing left of him.

Bambam sprang up from the floor, his accusing finger landing on Jinyoung. “And what about Jinyoung, huh?! All he does is acting anymore, he stopped giving a shit about GOT7 months ago!”

“That’s not true…” Jinyoung squeaked out in some kind of mediocre defence when, in fact, Bambam had a point. As their songs slowly dropped down the charts and the jobs dried up, Jinyoung had clung to acting like a life raft in the hope that a popular drama would pick him up and help him boost GOT7’s profile back up. However, in his attempt to do whatever he could to save GOT7, he was really only saving himself.

The voices kept rising and soon enough, insults about talent and credibility and loyalty began to be flung around the group like bullets, scratching away at any remaining team spirit that had been left.

A jab from Jaebum hit too close to home and, suddenly, Bambam threw himself across the room, quickly blocked by Mark who had moved at the speed of light to stop the situation from getting physical.

“I’m done with you!” Bambam spat at Jaebum viciously before looking at the rest of the boys, “I’m done with all of you! There’s nothing even worth fighting for here!”

He pushed Mark off with a harsh shove and stormed into his bedroom; the sound of a suitcase hitting the floor and clothes being pulled off of racks. Jinyoung reached out to Jackson who was breathing heavily but he flinched away from Jinyoung like he was an open flame.

“Don’t _touch_ me. You’ve barely said anything so what do you think about this?”

Jinyoung sputtered, desperately grasping at straws in a hopeless attempt to try and heal open wounds that had been festering for months. Instead, he decided on telling his truth.

“You’re larger than life, Jackson, larger than all of us combined! You can go on and find more jobs and leave the rest of us in the dust, it was bound to happen anyway”

It was brutally honest, more brutal than what was needed at that moment, but it was how he felt. They couldn’t go anywhere as a group without Jackson getting recognised; even when people had no idea who GOT7 the group was, they knew who Jackson was. Jinyoung had meant it as a compliment; a reassurance that Jackson was going to be okay financially when GOT7 ended but Jackson recoiled and Jinyoung to this day has never forgotten the look of betrayal in his eyes.

“If that’s how you feel” Jackson had mumbled before fleeing to his room, slamming the door behind him in finality.

The flood had finally hit him full force and Jinyoung rushed to the bathroom to throw up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Bambam left that night, had arranged a flight on some famous friend’s private plane, and disappeared without a word to any of them.

Jaebum followed soon after, throwing his front door keys on the counter and walking out, not even sparing a glance at Jinyoung on the sofa.

Yugyeom phoned his parents in the morning and left with a tight hug and tears in his eyes.

Youngjae refused to leave until their manager arrived and explained the situation but, eventually, his emotions overcame him and he quickly packed a suitcase, barely able to give Jinyoung a proper hug before escaping out of the door.

Jackson finally exited his bedroom, bags and suitcase in hand, stopping in his tracks and staring at Jinyoung for a few moments before shaking his head and leaving, letting the door slam behind him.

Mark made lunch for the two of them that were left and they sat in silence on the sofa; staring into space, unable to find any words for each other.

Jinyoung didn’t want to leave; the dorm had been his safe place, the place where he had cemented bonds like no other with the boys, the place where GOT7 had been born, the place where he had drunk his first bottle of beer, had written his first song, had had his first kiss. He glanced at Mark who couldn’t finish his lunch. He wanted to ask… _where do we go now, Mark? And I do_ _mean we because I can’t do this without you._

But he stayed silent.

They lay together that night, in Jinyoung’s bed, arms wrapped around each other so tightly there was barely any room to breathe. And Jinyoung didn’t want to breathe, didn’t want to think, didn’t want to do anything but exist with Mark in that moment.

The sleeve of his t-shirt was smudged with Mark’s tears and he had pressed countless kisses into Mark’s forehead, cheek, nose, lips, anywhere he could get at to remind Mark that they were in this together, it was the two of them against the world, like always. For a while, Jinyoung’s heart didn’t ache with the knife wound of the disbandment. He was allowed to be numb, almost anesthetized by Mark and his warmth.

Soft snores gently lulled Jinyoung into a dreamless, restless sleep.

 

Mark was gone in the morning.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Finishing the translation of a particularly difficult legal document, Jinyoung saved his work and leaned back from his laptop, stretching his joints with a satisfied groan.

Working at home had been the only rational idea Jinyoung could produce all those years ago; the only option for an exhausted body, anxiety-riddled brain and borderline depressed soul. During the first months after…after, he couldn’t even step outside of his door, his mother having to pick up his groceries and take out his rubbish. People were no longer potentials for new friendships to Jinyoung but, instead, terrifying possibilities of someone hurting him or letting him down again.

Or even worse, recognising him.

The articles had died down around the nine-month mark; the company had already made plans to debut a new group to overshadow the mess GOT7 had left behind. They never had that last fanmeeting or goodbye concert; Hell would have had to freeze over before the seven of them would get in a room together again.

Even after a year, Jinyoung was too afraid to listen to the radio or watch TV in case a song Jaebum had written was playing or a radio show was on that Youngjae was hosting or a commercial played that Bambam was starring in. It felt like everyone else’s lives had continued moving like a wheel that remained spinning, whereas, Jinyoung was stuck in limbo; the air completely flattened out of his wheel.

Jackson had finally called after a year. The conversation was excruciating; tears and screaming, accusations and insults, apologies and regrets. Jackson had been his best friend for nearly eight years; his support system through the failure of JJ Project, his cheerleader through his acting projects, his rock when their last single barely even made it into the Top 100 on the charts. Jinyoung had never known a friendship like Jackson’s and, when everything had ended, when Jackson had flown back to China without even a goodbye, it was like throwing Jinyoung out to the deep end when he didn’t know how to swim.

He received the odd text from Youngjae now and then, typically pictures of Coco or just how he was doing, and Yugyeom would meet him for dinner every few weeks. He’d answered a drunk, and painful, call from Jaebum one night about two years after they’d all parted ways (he still couldn’t say the word… _disbandment._ It tasted toxic in his mouth; like the ash of something beloved that had burnt to the ground) and Jaebum didn’t try to call him after that, had probably deleted his number to prevent the same mistake. Bambam hadn’t contacted him at all.

And Mark… there was the box. The box of postcards under Jinyoung’s bed that collected a new entry every two weeks. The box Jinyoung had tried so hard to burn or throw out so many times but couldn’t bring himself to, couldn’t bear the thought of cutting his only connection to Mark.

He thought that, after at least six years, something inside him would heal but he felt irreparable. Dreams he had worked his ass off to achieve for most of his life had crashed and burned right before his eyes in the matter of minutes and nothing had been able to mend that.

When Jinyoung had realised that not even Mark was going to stay for him, the paralysing fear and panic had set in. He’d cancelled all future acting projects and fled back to Jinhae, into his mother’s open arms who cradled him during the worst week of his entire life. It had rained that fateful day everything fell apart and had continued to rain almost non-stop for the last six years. A series of storms and typhoons had succumbed the country and hadn’t let up its force since, leaving the people no choice but to adjust to the rain.

Jinyoung, avid poet reader as he was, tried to find the metaphor in it. He remembered that old Chinese proverb his dad had once told him. _He who is drowned is not troubled by the rain._

 

Funny, Jinyoung felt like he had been drowning every day for the past six years.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

It was a good day; Jinyoung now had good and bad days. His mother didn’t like the bad days; the days where he couldn’t leave his room, couldn’t stop the tears or didn’t cry at all, just stared into space and didn’t eat or speak a word.

No, it was a good day and so Jinyoung decided he was going to go out and get his own groceries. The rain still lashed down in almost tidal waves but that had stopped bothering him years ago and he never went out with an umbrella, even forgetting a raincoat this time. Getting drenched in the rain was almost one of the only ways he felt alive anymore. He opened the front door and the suitcase knocked against his leg, waiting, always waiting. Exhaling, he slammed the door behind him.

The shop nearest to him was small and out of the way which suited Jinyoung just fine; fewer chances of people to run into and interact with who may recognise him. Picking up the essentials didn’t take long and, soon enough, he was driving back to his apartment, rain pounding against the windscreen and wipers flying back and forth. Someone had parked in his usual space outside the apartment block and he had a bit of a grumble about it but easily found another space, pulling to a stop and flicking the lock to open his boot.

Rounding the side of his car, he picked up two of his shopping bags and dashed through the rain to place them at the front door. Heading back for his last bag, he pulled his car boot shut and clicked the lock button on his keys, proceeding back to the front door.

“Jinyoungie”

He was lucky he wasn’t carrying his shopping bag or his milk carton would have exploded all over the ground. He didn’t even need to turn around to know exactly who it was; he’d recognise that voice across a room, across a street, in a sea of people, he would always know that voice. He turned anyway.

He was a brunette now; the last time they had seen each other, Mark had been a sandy blonde. He was tanned again, just like when he’d moved here almost 10 years ago and Jinyoung had made that stupid JYP joke when they’d first met, but he looked relaxed standing in the downpour in his drenched denim jacket and skinny jeans and more comfortable within himself than Jinyoung could remember. Mark had been so on edge the last few months of the group; constant ticks, shaking hands and mumbled, stuttered words. By the end of it, he had completely closed in on himself and Jinyoung couldn’t recognise him anymore.

“I…” Mark began, scrunching up his eyebrows as he tried to find the words, “I know it’s been years and I should’ve come so long ago but I didn’t know where to start, I don’t know…where to start.”

Jinyoung continued to just stare, eyes bulged in shock, and he tried to take step, forwards or backwards he didn’t even know, but he staggered and he could barely feel his legs. Mark reached out to him but he couldn’t, he wasn’t ready for that, and he rudely shoved Mark away from him, stumbling until he could catch his breath and regain his balance.

Mark rubbed his hands together, a nervous habit Jinyoung had noticed in the early days; a habit he would always do before leaning in to kiss Jinyoung when they weren’t sure what they were. “Did you…you must’ve seen my note.”

Jinyoung gave an ugly snort. Yeah, the note. The note left for him on the kitchen counter by Mark the morning he had disappeared that Jinyoung had only noticed in the late afternoon.

_Jinyoung,_

_I’ve gone to book a flight home. Two flights, if you’ll come with me. There’s a train going to the airport at 7pm. I’ll wait for you there._

_Mark_

Mark flinched, seeing the tempest building in Jinyoung’s eyes. “What I said…I didn’t mean to--”

The rush of the deluge surged up and Jinyoung’s heart erupted.

“You said you’d wait for me! You told me you’d wait for me at the station and I ran, I ran so fast Mark, I ran until my feet bled. And I stood there in the pouring rain, soaked to the bone, looking for you because I thought you would never leave without me. It was supposed to be the two of us! The two of us against the world, like we’d always say! Instead, it was me and the rain and that goddamn suitcase that waits at the bottom of my stairs every fucking day for you. I’ve been on hold for you for six years, Mark. I’ve kept waiting and it’s kept raining for six long years and I don’t know any different. Waiting for you became all I knew anymore.”

The storm inside him had swept him up and hung him out to dry, emptied and exhausted. He didn’t feel the crashing waves anymore, just ebbs and flows. He’d said all he’d needed to say; all the words blustering about in his head that he’d never had the chance to speak. It had all washed out, like the bursting of a dam, the last wave of a tsunami. He was all dried up.

“I couldn’t do it Jinyoung, I couldn’t bring you home with me and face my family at the same time, it was all too much, I felt like I was…” Mark beseeched, practically gasping for the right words.

Jinyoung knew what he meant. “You felt like you were drowning.”

Mark nodded. “Everything just… sank. We had this good thing, this _fucking amazing_ thing. The seven of us. Seven or nothing. I didn’t know anything other than that. I only knew the boys. I only knew GOT7. That’s all I’ve ever been good at. And losing that… I didn’t know if I was good enough for anything else. Good enough for you.”

Jinyoung immediately shook his head. He had been fighting Mark’s insecurities for years; it was a constant battle to get Mark to realise he didn’t need to change, he brought so much to the group, he was more than enough for Jinyoung, God, he was _everything_ to Jinyoung.

“I carried that for years, you know that,” Mark continued, “and I felt it more than ever that morning. I wanted you to come with me so much, Jinyoung, you have to know that. But I wanted more for _you_ than that. Your acting career was taking off, you were going to be a star! What was I gonna do, ask you to drop all that just for me?”

“I did it anyway!” Jinyoung yelled, surprising Mark into silence. “Do you think I could face the public after what happened? I couldn’t leave my own fucking house! But I would have been able to handle it, the… _disbandment…_ if I’d had you. Everything would’ve been alright… as long as I had you. But you took that choice from me.”

Mark choked on his words, the six-year lump rising in his throat. “ _I’m sorry_. I’m so sorry, I will say how sorry I am for the rest of my life and I will never be able to make up for it. I’m... I can be fickle… and temperamental and so pessimistic and I doubt myself all the goddamn time I… I’ll never do.”

Leaning forward, Jinyoung took Mark’s cheeks between his hands, feeling the cool rain against his fingers. “You do for me. You always have.”

Mark closed his eyes, basking in Jinyoung’s touch after so long. Too long. “I wrote. The postcards. As much as I could, I wrote. I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten you, I could never.”

Jinyoung brushed Mark’s sopping wet fringe out of his eyes. “I know. I kept them. I know.”

They kissed; almost perfectly, like they’d never stopped, like the six years never happened, like nothing had ever changed. And nothing really had; between them at least.

“You’re soaked to the bone” Mark breathed out and Jinyoung couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, well, don’t ever make me wait in the rain again”

It kept raining; downpours were still forecast to be on their way and Jinyoung knew certain phone calls needed to be made. He hadn’t heard Bambam’s voice in years and he needed to look Jaebum in the eyes but instead of feeling like the calm before a storm, it finally felt like the after. The beautiful after, when the sun emerges from behind the clouds.

 

 

 


End file.
